


The Easy Way

by CirrusGrey



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst with a (somewhat) Happy Ending, Archivist!Jon, Episode Related, Lonely!Martin, M/M, Martin returns, episode 142 spoilers, though after that ep i'm not sure those tags are really necessary...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 17:57:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19399396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CirrusGrey/pseuds/CirrusGrey
Summary: SPOILERS FOR MAG 142!!!Jon - or the thing that used to be Jonathan Sims, and still bore his face and name - was staring at Martin.





	The Easy Way

Jon - or the thing that used to be Jonathan Sims, and still bore his face and name - was staring at Martin.

He was still disheveled from traveling, his face still bore the cuts and bruises received at the hands of the People's Church. But there was a power and a focus about him that belied his outward appearance, and his eyes were very bright. 

"I need your story, Martin."

His voice was strong and clear, though there was no hint of compulsion to it yet. Martin shook his head.

"Martin. I need to know what's happening. I'm not asking you to come back, I just need to know what Peter Lukas is planning."

Martin shook his head again, not trusting his voice. It  _ hurt, _ to see Jon like this. Focused and cold, caring more for stories than the people who lived them. It was one thing to hear it secondhand from that poor engineer - quite another to experience it himself.

_ "Tell me." _

And  _ now _ the compulsion was there, a thrill of control that ran down Martin's spine like ice. His mouth opened of its own accord, and he forced it closed with an effort of will. He would  _ not _ tell this, this...  _ facsimile _ of the man he loved why he had been gone for so long. He couldn't. 

And, well... even if Jon  _ was _ still himself... he wasn't sure if he'd tell him then, either. Much safer, to keep Jon in the dark - figuratively speaking. Much easier, to handle things on his own. 

_ "Tell me." _

And Jon was cold, so cold, and there was a hunger in his eyes the likes of which Martin had never seen. He knew what the woman had meant, when she described his stare.  _ Tell me what happened, I'm all ears!  _ Martin used to say, whenever Tim or Sasha came back from a research trip looking particularly harried.  _ Show me your trauma. I'm all eyes. _

It was tingling, pins and needles in his throat and jaw forcing him to speak. But when he did, what came out was not his story. 

"No, Jon. I don't want to do that."

And it was true. He didn't  _ want _ Jon to know, and it wasn't because it was safer that way. It wasn't because he was afraid Jon would try to stop him. 

If giving up on the man you love is painful, finding hope again and opening yourself up to be hurt one more time is beyond excruciating. Martin was  _ used _ to loving Jon from a distance - had been doing it ever since he first fell for him. And how many times had he tried to bridge the gap between them, only to be pushed away and ignored?

Giving up was painful, but it was a steady, familiar ache. An old wound, one he'd had months to learn to live with. One he was not sure he had the strength to survive opening again. 

And if Jon  _ was _ gone... if he  _ had _ given in entirely, and was now no more than a pawn of the Beholding... it was easier, so much easier, to just walk away. 

Jon tilted his head to the side, a spark of curiosity joining the voracious hunger that resided in his eyes.

"This isn't you, Martin. You don't give up on people." His head straightened, his eyes narrowed. "You don't belong with the Lonely."

Martin's voice was soft. Bitter. "And this isn't you, Jon. You're supposed to care how your actions affect other people."

"Caring's never done me any good.  _ Tell me!" _ It was sharp, and sudden. Jon took a step toward Martin, voice rising, hands clenching into fists at his sides. 

The compulsion hit Martin like a punch, driving the air from his lungs, and he stepped back, an animal fear rising within him. He wanted to scream, to run, to leave behind this twisted version of the man he loved and find solace in the comforting distance of memory. His lips moved of their own volition, already forming words.

Jon's eyes widened, hunger replaced by shock in the instant he saw Martin retreating from him.

"No." It was barely more than a whisper, but it cut through whatever strings had been holding Martin in place. He scrambled backward, putting distance between himself and Jon. Jon shook his head, his gaze fixed on Martin's petrified face. "No. It's not worth it."

"Get away from me." The words ripped themselves from Martin's throat before he could rethink them, and Jon gasped as though stung. Martin rethought them, and decided he meant every word.

"Martin, please. I don't need your story. I don't  _ want _ it, unless you decide you want to tell me. Just, please." He held out a hand, though he didn't approach. "Please come back. Tell me I'm not too late."

"You're too late."

Jon's fingers curled back over his palm, and he dipped his head to the ground. His voice was barely audible. "Please."

"It's better this way, Jon." And it was - it was  _ so much _ better, to let it all go. So _ freeing _ to think he could leave it all behind and never be hurt again, so  _ relieving _ to know he wasn't missing anything by going - Jon was already gone, had been gone for a long time, and Martin was just seeing it now. What was the point, really, in hoping it could all go back to the way it had been? What was the point of clinging to threads long since snapped, living in fantasies of some happily-ever-after that would never come? What, when you got right down to it, was the point of loving a monster?

Except... Jon was here, now. He was  _ himself _ now. And he was reaching for Martin with an expression that was half shame, half longing, his eyes searching not for answers but for some sign that he had not lost everything. Not yet.

"Martin, I'm sorry for doing this to you. I'm sorry I... It's just easier, to give in. To give up hope, to think everyone already sees me as a monster, so there's no point trying  _ not _ to be one. To give up on  _ you, _ to make the choice to push you away so it hurts less when you run." His eyes were filling with tears, his voice unsteady. "But I  _ can't _ give up, Martin. I can't hurt you, I can't stand by and let you fear me, I can't- I can't lose you. Please, Martin. Please don't give up on me."

_ "You're _ scared that  _ I'll _ run? That's a bit hypocritical, don't you think?"

"I'm sorry." Jon was shaking his head. "I've made a lot of bad choices, Martin. I don't want this to be one of them."

Martin took a deep breath. He wanted to leave. He didn't want to have this conversation with Jon, not now, not ever. He'd made his choice, he'd accepted the distance - the loneliness. Accepted that Jon was gone, that he would never -

But now, traitorous hope was creeping up again, and Martin could feel the looming wave of pain and despair that lurked not far behind it. He had lost Jon so many times, no matter how hard he tried to hold on. He couldn't do it again. 

He breathed out, meeting Jon's eyes and speaking as calmly as he could. "If I lose you on my own terms it doesn't have to hurt."

Jon grimaced, waving a hand in emphasis. "But it  _ does. _ You told me to leave. If I walk out that door, right now, can you honestly tell me it won't affect you? It won't hurt you?" He took a step forward. "It won't tear out a piece of your soul, to see me walk away, to see me accept that you're no longer the Martin Blackwood I've known and loved for so long?" He stuck his chin out, stood tall. A challenge. "If you can tell me that, I'll leave. Immediately."

"You don't love me." It was all Martin could say. He didn't dare acknowledge the rest of Jon's argument. 

"I do, Martin." Jon took another step. "I haven't always - certainly not when we first met. But in the years since you've become my closest confidant, my most trusted advisor, my dearest friend. I love you, Martin. I do, and I have, and I will, no matter what choice you make."

And there was a fresh wave of pain waiting in that, because if Jon  _ did... _ if he cared for Martin as Martin cared for him, and had suffered for Martin's absence as severely as Martin had suffered for his...

It was so easy, to give in. To push it all away and sink into blameless oblivion. 

But Jon refused to give up on him. And Martin, despite everything, couldn't give up on Jon. 

Martin closed his eyes, letting the wave crash over him. The fears and regrets, the despair and the grief. The knowledge that this couldn't last, that even if they chose each other the world would find some way to tear them apart. The hopes for that faint and fading happily-ever-after that they would never reach. 

He opened himself to the feelings, to the pain, then opened his eyes to give Jon a watery smile.

"I love you too."

Three steps brought him into Jon's space, and it was the easiest thing in the world to wrap his arms around the other man and bury his face in his shoulder. Jon's arms encircled him in turn, and he turned his head to press his face into Martin's hair, a gesture that was half nuzzling, half kiss.

They stayed there, holding each other close against the horrors of the world, for a long time.


End file.
